Love Sherlock Holmes
by calgarry
Summary: A really random story which I came up with, no idea where it came from or anything. A mysterious woman (OC) reads John's blog and decides to do something about Sherlock and John. Sort of forced Johnlock, it will make sense when you read it trust me. Set some time before Reichenbach, rated K plus because I'm paranoid. Sorry if this story offends anyone in any way, shape or form.
1. Prologue

**Note: 'the woman' mentioned in this story is ****_not_**** Irene Adler, I repeat ****_not_**** Adler!**

The woman sat at her cloth-covered table, staring intently at the computer screen that sat amongst the trinkets in front of her.

_The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson_

She read the insightful blog posts, the story of the two men's developing relationship. She had seen the news stories, read the publicity. The two were obviously in love, but were refusing to admit it.

The woman stood up and would her silk scarf around her shoulders. The good doctor was in denial, and it was time to fix that.


	2. John

The good doctor in question was sitting in the clinic, tired after a busy morning. The flow of patients seemed to have stemmed, and he was mostly biding time until he could go home and have a proper rest.

The long afternoon stretched on, and John got bored. He was doodling in the corner of his notepad when there was a light knock at the door and the new receptionist, Jenny, stuck her head in the door. She was trying to hide a smirk.

"There's a…ah…a woman to see you, doctor. She asked for you specifically. Very formal, your middle name and everything."

He straightened in his seat. This wasn't good, not very many people knew his middle name. "Send her in," he said cautiously, and Jenny nodded and disappeared, her smile widening.

John heard a nose outside, and looked out the window for a second. When he looked back, he jerked backwards in shock at the woman standing in front of him, leaning over his desk towards him. She wore a long purple robe, and her red hair was done up on top of her head with chopsticks that appeared to have ribbons hanging off them. The red ribbons clashed nicely with her hair. Her long arms were swathed in bangles of every colour imaginable, and her perfume was overpowering. She held a large blue leather bag, which she dropped on the ground beside her feet. As he took her in, she leaned over further, the top of her low-cut top gaping open. Trying to focus on her face, he swallowed hard.

"Right," he eventually managed. "What…what can I do for you?"

"You are Dr. John H. Watson? As in, the personal blog of?" He eventually managed to decode the strangely worded question, and nodded, unable to do anything else.

"Good. Now we can talk." She sat down across from him, crossing her legs. "We need to talk about your 'friend', Sherlock Holmes."

John finally managed to regain control of his tongue. "Wait. Wait a sec. Who are you? How do you know who I am? And who Sherlock is? And why did you say 'friend' in that tone?"

She laughed. "I? I am anonymous. You can call me that, actually. I know who you are because everybody knows who you are. You and your friend, who are perhaps more than friends?" she suggested, smirking.

"You are the five millionth person to ask me this. No, I'm not gay; no, Sherlock and I are not a couple. Happy?" John sounded bored; he'd said this more times than he cared to count.

"No," Anonymous replied disapprovingly; she'd heard this enough times in her career. "No, I am not happy because you are simply refusing to accept the bare facts! You _are_ gay, and you _are_ in love with Sherlock Holmes!" Her voice began to rise, she was almost shrieking at him.

He did not appreciate being shouted at in his own office. "Come on now, I think you need to leave. I don't know who you are, or who you think you are to be making claims like that about myself and my flatmate." He stressed the last word, and got up to escort her out. She was having none of it.

"You need to accept your homosexuality, John! Embrace your gay!" She was still shouting as he firmly held her arm and walked her to the door. "Embrace it! Love Sherlock Holmes!" He could still hear her as she left the waiting room.

John stared after her, unsure as to what to think. He turned to see Jenny almost doubled up with laughter, and a couple of the other doctors coming out of their offices to see what was happening. He stuck his tongue out at all of them and went back into his office, shaking his head at the insanity of the world.

A minute or so later, there was a knock at his window, and he glanced out to see that woman again, Anonymous, standing outside. She held a sign that read, 'Love Sherlock Holmes!' with suns and smiley faces around the edges. He pulled the blind down and went back to work.


	3. Sherlock

Sherlock was sitting in the living room, deep in thought. His hands were steepled under his chin, and he had his eyes closed, pondering a case he was working on. He was so engrossed in his mind palace that he failed to hear the front door opening, or the strange footsteps coming up the stairs. It was only when the unannounced visitor stepped into his flat that his eyes snapped open, and swivelled around to the door, annoyed at the interruption.

His eyes widened. Before him was the most outrageous woman he had ever seen, and that was saying something. His eyes drifted up towards her high hair, then down to her gold high heeled shoes. She had put on a green shawl since she had seen John. The overall effect would have been overpowering to most, but Sherlock calmly looked her in the eye and said, "Can I help you?" He knew she was not a client, but he did not know why she was in his flat.

She simply glided over to an armchair and sat down, placing the large bag beside her chair. "Please, have a seat," he said, and she rolled her eyes. She then sat forward and looked at him, to find he was completely undistracted by her top. "What do you want?" Sherlock snapped, his patience running thin. "This is trespassing, you know, and I happen to be…friends…with a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard."

She finally spoke. "You are Sherlock Holmes." Her voice was deep and husky, and gave him another clue to her motives for being in his flat.

"And you are a trespasser. What do you want?"

"I have read about your skills. Tell me, what can you deduce about me, right now?"

He turned the full force of his coldest glare upon her. "I know that you are a person who is used to getting her own way, and telling people what to do. Your appearance suggests you would like to be thought of as eccentric, but it is too perfectly messy, too measured. This leads to me think that you are really quite intelligent.

"As for your job, you like to help people, in your own way. I believe that you are some kind of guidance counsellor, probably for relationships. You are in my flat because you believe I need some love in my life, and are here to 'help' me. Well, I can save you time now by telling you that I do not need 'love'. So goodbye." With that he closed his eyes again and once more placed his hands under his chin, pretending to think but actually waiting for her to go away.

She did not. Instead, she gave a slow clap that made him open his eyes once more in irritation, and glare at her yet again. "Goodbye," he repeated, but she smiled instead. "Well done, Mr Holmes. However, you are wrong in one respect. I do not think – I _know_. And I that you already have romance in your life, and I am here to help you kindle it." He straightened up, surprised at this, and muttered, "There's always something."

The woman simply said, "You are in love with Dr John H. Watson, and he is in love with you also." He looked around at her, furrowing his brow. "Oh, don't pretend you didn't know."

"I didn't, because it's not true. I am not 'in love' with anyone. Now leave."

"No."

"Fine, stay there. Just be quiet. I'm thinking." He closed his eyes again.

The woman got up and walked into his bedroom. There were some noises, as if she was moving things about, then she came out and headed to the kitchen. There, she rattled objects around for a few more minutes. He didn't notice; he was too absorbed in his mind palace.

Lastly, she walked into the room he was in and stood in front of him for a second. Then she turned and left the apartment.

Sherlock waited, eyes still closed, until he heard the front door shut. Then he settled back to think properly, without any interruptions.


	4. Both

It wasn't until five o'clock that Sherlock opened his eyes, having worked out the answer to the case. He was faintly surprised to find the flat dark, and hi eyes took a minute to adjust to the light. When he could see, he blinked and jerked backwards slightly.

For in front of him, bold as you please, was a large, pink, glittery sign. It was like a protest sign, with a picket, and rooted firmly in a special holder the woman had placed on the ground. His mind took all this in subconsciously as he stared at the wording on the sign. Written in bold lettering were the words 'Love John H. Watson'.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away, snorting. It was then that he saw the kitchen table. It was covered in small muffins, or cupcakes or something. As he got nearer he saw that they were all hand-iced, mostly pink. Gay pride pink. Most had hearts on them, but several were arranged in a row, with letters on them that spelt out 'EMBRACE YOUR GAY'. Not even grammatically correct, he snorted as he went into his bedroom to get his coat.

He stopped just inside the door, and stared in shock at the floor. She had taken all his socks and placed them in front of his bed, again spelling out letters. This time, it was both messages, 'embrace your gay' and 'love John H. Watson'. Sherlock grabbed his coat and went back to the sofa, ignoring the socks. He'd come back to them later.

His phone dinged with a text.

**Love John Watson! -MH**

"Shut up, Mycroft," he growled, before settling back down on the couch.

o0o0o

An hour after the socks were discovered, John H. Watson himself walked through the door of 221B Baker Street. He stopped when he saw the sign and cupcakes. Sherlock's bedroom door was open, and he could see socks strewn about inside. Sherlock sat in the middle of it all, deep in his mind palace again.

John cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "I take it you had a visit from her as well."


End file.
